


Candy Crush, Sugar Rush

by Calliopinot



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Valentine's Day, au where teenagers are nice to each other instead of mean to me, i mean each other, poorly written songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliopinot/pseuds/Calliopinot
Summary: All the girls at Mordland School for the Gifted look forward to Valentine's Day. It's their one chance each year to freely rain affection down upon the cutest boy on campus -- Skwisgaar Skwigelf. But he has eyes for someone else... if only he can work up the courage to say something.Just some fun high school AU antics with the Dethklok boys -- and Abby, of course.





	Candy Crush, Sugar Rush

“I says, eh, maybes t'irty t'rees.”

“Dood, dere aren’t dat many kids in our class.”

“I knows. Dats ams whys it ams sos imspreskives!”

The walk to school was more of a leisurely stroll this morning. It was a leisurely stroll every morning; the backlog of unsigned tardy slips littering the bookbags of Skwisgaar Skwigelf and Pickles the Drum Major was evidence of that. But today was a holiday. The holiest of holidays, as far as pubescent boys and girls were concerned.

It was Valentine’s Day.

The one day every year when teachers turned a blind eye to students sneaking kisses in the hallways. When  _every period_  was dedicated to swapping thematic Valentines – a hand-crafted wooden keepsake for Scarlette from Jake in Shop; a Shakespearean sonnet for Eduardo from Kyle in English; a 17 minute guitar solo from Skwisgaar to himself in Music. When the only nourishment consumed all day came in the form of refined sugar and cocoa.

For three years running, Skwisgaar was king of Valentine’s Day at Mordland School for the Gifted. He was an incorrigible flirt, and every year every girl from every grade – and some of the braver boys – tried to outdo the rest with their gift to him. Skwisgaar would thank each one, of course, usually with a smile, sometimes with a kiss on the cheek. But their efforts were always for naught.

Skwisgaar only had eyes for one person. The boy who waited, dutifully as ever, on the corner of Swimwamli and Gibbets for his seniors to walk him the rest of the way.

Little Toki Wartooth.

“Heys.”

“Hiya.”

Skwisgaar said “Good morning” with a silent thrust of his chin. The totally casual show he made of adjusting his bookbag to his left shoulder – forcing Pickles to walk in the middle and putting as much distance between him and Toki as humanly possible – was totally casual and not at all obvious. That he did it every day he figured they’d chalk up to habit, certainly not to the fact that he had a desperate crush on Toki Wartooth and couldn’t function in close proximity to him.

They walked a few blocks in silence. On Toki’s forearm was a new bruise that they could see, which meant several more they could not. His friends had grown accustomed to the marks, but it didn’t make seeing them every morning any less uncomfortable. And they learned, after they went to the headmaster with their concerns about his treatment at home, after Toki missed three days of school because of the wrath that God cast upon those that doubted His methods, that it was best not to say anything at all.

“Skwisgare sez he’ll get thirty-three Valentines in first period  _alone_.”

Toki looked sidelong at his friends as they walked. Skwisgaar was glad for the one-man buffer, short though he may be.

“Dat ams unspossibles. Dere ams nots dats manies kids in yours first periods class.”

“I know!”

“Ja, buts you ams forgettins all dems goils ins da freshman years. Dey ams in loves wit me.”

“You ams in loves wit you.”

Pickles snorted.

“I ams in loves wit –! Neversmind.”

Saved by the bell. The early bell, as luck would have it. The troupe bypassed the front entrance of Mordland School – where a horde of Skwisgaar stans would doubtless be waiting with their flood of pink and red trinkets – and opted for the door by the gym. That’s where they’d be most likely to find Nathan anyway. Nathan Explosion, captain of the football team, never missed a chance to get in a few reps in the weight room, even if it meant waking up and getting to school early.

William Murderface was less enthusiastic. He’d been crashing at casa Explosion since his grandfather’s stroke last Christmas, which meant he was beholden to Nathan’s schedule. Linebacker build aside, he had no desire to engage in anything remotely athletic. Or extracurricular, or curricular, or…

“Sup.”

“Heeeeey Nate!” Pickles bounded into the room and wrapped the kid in as strong a hug as he could manage.

“Uh.”

“Oh yeh. Fergat we’re naht s'posed ta do gay stuff in front'a these homo-haters here.” Contrary to his words, Pickles nuzzled his face into Nathan’s sweaty sternum – the highest place he could reach.

“Hey!”

“Whats?”

“Who saids we ams hates – looks, it’s ams nots likes dat… I’s just…” Skwisgaar felt personally obligated to defend the slight, and explain his full-faced blush. If he made it through the end of this lovey-dovey day without combusting, it would be a miracle.

 

* * *

  

First period came and went. Skwisgaar’s Valentine haul exceeded his prediction, but only by 12.

Second period fell far below expectation. It was Pre-Calc, but still. Third fell even shorter. By lunch, Skwisgaar was in a mood, which only worsened when he saw exactly who had usurped the Valentines which were rightfully his.

“Heys, guys!” A buoyant Toki Wartooth joined his mates at their table in the dead center of the lunch room – exactly where a motley crew of pretty boy, football star, stoner hold-back, self-loathing goth, and charity case should sit – and proudly dumped upon its surface a mountain of pink and red and white cards and trinkets.

“Looks whats I gots!”

Skwisgaar hadn’t accounted for Toki’s rise in popularity since he transferred in last fall.  _And since he started growing his hair out, like mine,_  he thought ruefully.

“Ha! Look at Schwishgaar, he'sh jealoush!”

Rather than stick his foot squarely in his gaping maw again, Skwisgaar excused himself to get cheese fries. Just then, the PA system screeched, feedback announcing yet another unwelcome lunchtime address. The student body grumbled into something of a hush, as much respect as could reasonably be expected.

“Students of Mordland – Happy Valentine’s Day!” A cheery – almost too cheery – young lady with creamy brown skin and bright green eyes took to the microphone perched at the center of the cafeteria’s mini-stage. She greeted her audience with two handfuls of candy flung to the rafters – a surefire way to get teenagers to pay attention.

A preppy – almost too preppy – pallid young man with a perfect crew cut and wire framed glasses snaked his way around the lunch tables, tossing packages of sweets to the pliable populace before joining his compatriot on stage.

“That’s right – Happy Valentine’s Day! And more importantly, Happy Three Weeks Until Student Government Election Day!” Mouths full of chocolate stifled the inevitable groans.

“When you’re in those voting booths on March 7th” – “What boothchsh?” William inquired under his breath – “just think of the names you can’t spell: Remeltindtdrinc/Offdensen!”

“Your Homecoming King and Queen! And your Valentine’s Sweethearts.” The disgustingly adorable couple shared a disgustingly adorable peck on the lips, that engendered an “Awwwww” from the crowd that couldn’t be helped.

“Now, if you’d like to learn more about our platform, Make Mordland Great Again,” said the boy named Charles – Charles, not Charlie – “visit h-t-t-p colon slash slash—”

“NATE'N, YOU ARE MY DOOD; DOOD, I REALLY LOVE YOOD!”

Pickles had disappeared during the announcement. His friends were so entranced by the campaign speech, they didn’t notice the scraggly redhead sneaking up from the side of the stage, guitar in hand.

“AIN’T NONE OF THESE DOOSHBAGS CAN HOLD A CANDLE; TO YOU NATE, YOU ARE MY MANDLE!”

The cafeteria erupted. Pickles stage dove with a gnarly kick hurdle the entire six inches to the lunchroom floor, then set off in pursuit of his wholly embarrassed, giggling boyfriend. He needed to move fast, too, if he had any hope of avoiding the long arm of Headmaster Cornickleson, who’d just arrived on scene.

“NATE'N, BOY I LOVE YOUUUUU!” Cornickleson was closing fast. Pickles was almost back to their table . “NATE'N… SOMETHING… DOODILY DOODILY DOOOOO!!!” Too late. Cornickleson grabbed him by the collar, like a mama cat snatching her most mischievous kitten, to uproarious laughter and applause. Pickles tried his best to take a bow, restricted as he was by the headmaster’s grip.

“Young man, you’ve earned yourself about a year of detention, starting today. And an apology to Miss Remeltindtdrinc and Mr. Offdensen.”

“Whet? They liked it!” He glanced back at the stage. Charles was fuming. Silent, dignified, but fuming nonetheless. His girlfriend was trying her best not to betray her true feelings – and having a dickens of a time at that. “Well, Abby liked it.”

“Come on, you.”

“Pickles, I’ll wait for you!” Nathan joked, one of the rare occasions he acknowledged their relationship publicly. He’d have to figure out how to get detention before day’s end.

 

* * *

 

Skwisgaar’s sour mood had infected William by the final class of the day – Music. For as disappointed as the blond was in his Valentine tally, Murderface had no tally to be disappointed in at all. He tried to hide it by just not talking about the day and all its connotations. But the jagged heart with an axe through it that he’d carved into the back of his double bass – the school’s double bass; it was merely on loan to William for the semester – spoke volumes.

The one thing that lightened both boys’ spirits was the class itself. Music was what brought them to Mordland School. Without their unique musical talents, they’d be wasting away at some overcrowded, underperforming public school or a one-room classroom with no heat in the backwoods of Sweden.

That, and it was the only class where their best friends were in one place, doing what they all loved best:

Nathan, growling lyrics of his own composition. Toki, pouring raw, unpolished emotion into his beat-up old guitar. Pickles, keeping perfect time on the drums as he counted down his last few minutes of freedom until detention – which he’d sweet-talked his way down to just one week.

But today, the idea of love made William Murderface sick.

In the middle of class, in the middle of rehearsal, in the middle of his thoughts about how  _nice_  and  _wonderful_  it all was for  **everyone else** , William had had it. He kicked his boot straight through the heart he’d etched, rendering the double bass into matchsticks and kicking up an unholy fuss from Mr. Knubbler – which earned him nothing but the double-birds from Mr. Murderface.

“That does it, I’m getting the headmaster!”

As soon as Knubbler was gone, Skwisgaar slid over to the door. A peek out the little window and a nod, and pieces subtly moved into place, all while Murderface threw his tantrum.

“Attention: You big baby!”

Pickles, Nathan, Skwisgaar, and Toki had moved to the front of the room. The rest of the class had to stifle their giggles; they were in on it, but they couldn’t give away the goose.

“We all know Valentine’s Day is a lame, made up holiday about hearts and sappy crap.” Some of the class – and Pickles – booed. “But I just read about a whole bunch of mafia guys that, like, totally blew each other away with Tommy guns and whatever, like, a hundred years ago, on Valentine’s Day. And that’s pretty brutal. Anyway. William Murderface, this is for you. LET’S GO!”

The guitars blazed first, followed by a thunderous drumroll.

“Happy Valentines to you! Happy Valentines to you! Happy Valentines, Happy Valentines, Happy Valentines to you  _OLÈ!_ ”

It didn’t have the artistry of Pickles’ lunchtime ode to Nathan, but it worked all the same. William was a blithering mess by the end of it.

“You guysh wrote that – for me?”

“Yeh, idiot. See ya in detention!”

 

* * *

  

Between Nathan’s assorted sports team practices, Pickles’ invariable detention appointments, and Murderface’s inability to set his own agenda, Toki and Skwisgaar often found themselves walking home alone, together. Today was no different.

As usual, they walked in silence until school was out of eyesight. Only then did they feel like they were really free to talk.

As usual, Toki broke the ice.

“Hows comes you hates me?”

“I don'ts hates you.”

“Yous never lets me play de solos in bands. You nevers looks at mes, or talks to mes anymores. Whys don'ts you likes me? What’s Toki does to you?”

Skwisgaar stopped walking.

“I does likes you, Toki.”

“I just—huh?”

Toki paused, doubling back the five feet he’d carried on.

“I likes you. I’s, likes, likes you. Like likes you. Likes, I likes you. You knows?”

In that moment he was so grateful for the ground. It was so much more forgiving than Toki’s eyes surely were. And he was grateful for the sheath of blond hair that shielded his boiling hot face from those eyes.

“What?”

Skwisgaar shifted uncomfortably in the same spot.

“You, like, likes me?”

“Ja.”

“Likes, how Nat'an like Pickle?”

Skwisgaar paused for a beat. “Ja, I guess. Sos what abouts dat does you t'ink?” He finally lifted his head. When he did, he was met by an absolutely rapturous expression.

“I t'ought you likes de goils!”

“I does! I means, I t'inks sos. Ams kindsa—”

“—Figursing it out?”

“Ja!”

“Ja! Me toos.” Toki beamed at him. He had no idea a kindred spirit was this close at hand. Certainly not one that actually liked him. Like liked him, no less!

But when the initial euphoria wore off, painful awkwardness remained. Two emotionally crippled teenage boys stood silently, looking at the sidewalk, at their hands, at the sky, at anything but each other.

Skwisgaar started to speak. Coughed. Took a deep breath.

“WELL DOES YOU LIKES ME TOO?!”

Toki was startled by the volume and rush of words. He thought they’d covered that part. Then realized that, no, maybe they hadn’t.

“Oh! Um.” His cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. He couldn’t help but place a hand to one, to feel the heat radiating from it, before remembering he was in the company of someone else. Someone he maybe liked.

“Ja. Ja! I t'inks I do!” Toki’s cheesy mug was thwarted by Skwisgaar’s narrowed eyes.

“You  _t'inks_  you does, ors you does?”

“What differenks it makes?”

“Wellllls…” Skwisgaar shifted his shoulders, slipping a strap of his bookbag off one and sliding it around to hang off his chest. “I  _t'inks_  I wants asks you bes my Valenskines. Buts, I’s not asks if yous onlies  _t'inks_  you likes me.”

His lip curled up into a Cheshire Cat grin. Skwisgaar The Flirt had returned to form.

“Ja! Asks me! I likes you! See, looks!”

Toki grabbed his senior’s forearms, pulled himself up to his tiptoes, and pressed his lips to Skwisgaar’s. Just for a second. Half a second. A peck is really all it was. Enough to make his point.

But when it was over… Now they looked at each other. They looked and looked and looked.

“Okej. I believes you.” Skwisgaar pulled a little wooden box out of his bag and handed it to Toki. No fanfare. No schmaltz.

Toki opened it. No preamble. No ceremony.

“It ams… a guitar?”

A tiny, model Gibson Flying V, just like the hand-me-down version he played every day, only this one was shiny black, gleaming, brand new, and made just for him.

He was floored.

“You makes dis?”

“Ins shops. Last, uh,  _termin_.”

“You makes dis for me  _last sesmekser_?”

Skwisgaar wondered at what point all the blood rushing to his face would cause him to just black out.

“Eughhh, maybes. Whatsever. You wants bes my Valenskine or whats?”

“Ja! T'anks!”

They hugged. One of those horrifyingly painful air-hugs you give to a cousin you haven’t seen in 15 years.

“You bes my Valentines too, okej?”

Skwisgaar chuckled. They’d have time to improve the communication. And the hugs. And the kisses too, if he played his cards right.

“Okejs, littles Toki. I bes yous Valenskine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Valentine's Day fic giveaway I did on Tumblr that I'm only now getting around to uploading here. ALSO if "Pickles the Drum Major" was your idea, please flag, because I am convinced I did not come up with that from scratch and I cannot for the life of me remember whose it was.


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